


You're Adorable As Hell But I'm Glancing At Your Wrist

by TawnyLouis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Basically, Breanne wants to die a lot, But they don't date, F/M, Harry and Louis have an odd romantic history, Harry is really angry all the time, Liam likes to Kiss Zayn, Louis is bi, M/M, My First AO3 Post, My OC is named Breanne, Niall drinks a lot, Sad!Louis, Self Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TawnyLouis/pseuds/TawnyLouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Breanne really wants to get out of Holmes Chapel and the boy who smells nice and has sad eyes is offering her a way out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Adorable As Hell But I'm Glancing At Your Wrist

**Author's Note:**

> Alright. So, hi, I'm author. But you can call me Rachael, though sometimes you'll wanna call me Satan because I fuck up a lot. You'll get a 2-7 sentence Author's Note at the end of each chapter and the occasional 1-3 sentence announcement at the beginning of some chapters. Depending on if there is anything to announce. I ship Larry so I'm sort of out of my element here but I swear to god I'm trying really hard to keep this pretty straight (;D) forward. You should know, however, that I've never sent hate to anyone except a really homophobic guy who kept calling me a faggot on Instagram and I had to and I'm so sorry for that and sometimes I cry about it so yeah. Hate isn't my thing. I love you all. Thanks for reading. Stay beautiful you classy motherfuckers. (Oh yeah, this fanfiction has a lot of cursing but no sexual stuff (smut is hard to write when you're a virgin) and there's probably going to be alcohol and smoking but no illegal drugs (again, not being a cocaine addict has it's cons).) Thank you for looking at my fanfiction. ♥ Rachael

Fuck Dresses. They leave your legs all exposed and basically force you to walk around without pants on and that is so fucked up. Ever since I was little, I hated dresses. It's probably because I was raised by my dad whose primary interests were football, Guinness, and cars, but I like to think that I'd of hated dresses even if I actually had a mother and a proper female role model besides my babysitter Chelsea who used to bring boys over and kiss them on the couch while me and my friend Emma made s'mores in the microwave. But aside from that, dresses are weird, too. Like when was the last time you saw a guy walking around in a poufy dress? Never, right? (I mean unless he was trans* but that's another story). So yeah, I hate dresses. And yet I still found myself slouching in the back of a church (so cliché) watching Chelsea walk down the aisle in her bright white dress, that's supposed to stand for purity but we all know she fucked at least three guys before her husband, and wearing, you guessed it, a knee-length dress with lacey flowers that I may or may not have stolen from her closet.  
There is a boy sitting next to me that looks about three years my senior, and he keeps on glancing at the hem of my dress and I keep on glaring at him and it's all very cute until suddenly everyone is loud again and walking to the cars and he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into a car with him and a middle aged woman. "Hi," he breathes into me, smiling lazily. He's quite pretty, fluffy brown hair that's somehow messy and neat at the same time, a bit of scruff on his chin. I thank god this isn't a family wedding because if this guy ended up being my cousin I probably would light myself on fire. The woman scoff at us and scoots herself farther away, I lean into the boy, resting my head on his shoulder.  
"Hello," I murmur as he runs his fingers through my hair. "I'm Breanne. By the way," I continue. He's still touching my hair, he smells like oranges and cheap body wash and cigarettes and I feel like I could sit there forever if it weren't for the huffy woman and the fact that we're fifteen minutes from the reception hall.  
"Louis," he says to me, his voice is raspy yet sweet. Like syrup. He's sort of perfect. We sit in silence for the rest of the ride, an older man driving the car much too slow for my liking. I just want to get away from the people who aren't Louis and eat stupid cake with sugary frosting and get out of this dress. Whether or not it is in Louis' presence is up to him. I really shouldn't be this smitten with a boy who's said only two words to me. But I'm feeling adventurous and bored and maybe he'll promise to take me far away from Holmes Chapel and bring me to London and maybe we'll make love in the kitchen of a small apartment that we share. But he'll probably just make empty promises into the sheets and leave a note in the morning explaining how they were all lies and that he has responsibilities and probably a girlfriend or boyfriend and maybe a dog. The realization that we're at the hall and that we're the only two left in the car break me out of my thoughts. Louis has his hand wrapped around my own and is gently pulling me out of the car. I resist the urge to kiss him.  
The reception consists of a lot of roses and music and old people getting drunk but also a lot of heart eyes from Louis and being introduces to his friend Zayn who is dark and mysterious and model-esque and doesn't talk much but I like him a lot. I learn that Louis is talkative. He tells funny stories about a boy named Liam who apparently likes to kiss Zayn a lot- but Zayn swears they don't date- and Niall who is Irish and once called a guy a cunt just because he bumped into him and the guy cried and he talks endlessly about Harry who is apparently clumsy like a baby giraffe and scrawny and also Louis' best friend. Louis talks about him as if he's the best thing in the world. And he explains how he used to be head over heels for him. But then they got into a fight that included Harry yelling the words "confused faggot" at him which was totally hypocritical Harry's gay and Louis is only bi and I think that it's a little fucked up that Harry did that but I don't say anything. The conversation ends after everyone begins to depart and Louis' hand finds itself nestled into my waist and Zayn says he's going to go home.  
The morning after I wake up in a bed that isn't mine and that smells like oranges and cheap body wash and cigarettes and my perfume. The boy next to me is sitting crosslegged and sketching drawings into a sketchbook. Without fully opening my eyes I can see a picture that looks alarmingly like myself, loose, dark curls, slightly crooked eyebrows, long eyelashes, slightly too square jaw. It's pretty in all the ways that I'm not. Looking down at myself I remember last night as cute. Which seems, like, clingy. But, I mean, we didn't do anything. Which was really weird because normally these things are one night stands and boys taking advantage of the 16 year old girl who somehow got into a club and is half drunk and keeps dancing on guys and kissing them and is probably good at sucking dick (which I am but that's beside the point), but this was watching Silver Linings Playbook while cuddling together and him promising me that he's going to take me back to Doncaster with him and I can go to college there and I can live with him and Zayn and Harry and I can meet Niall and Liam. "About last night," I say, voice cracking from misuse, "are you seriously gonna get me out of Holmes Chapel? Or were they just empty promises made whilst cuddling?"  
"I don't lie," is his response. He then sends me a crooked smile and motions to the paper in his hands, "Do you like it?"  
"Yeah," I say, "like looking in a mirror to be honest. A bit creepy actually. It's really nice though. Wish I could draw half as good as you."  
"I'm sure you're better," he says thoughtfully. "When would you like to get out of Holmes Chapel Breanne?"  
This catches me off guard. Specifically because I've never thought about the when of leaving. But it's not hard to decide how long I want to leave alcoholic dads and lying best friends who are addicted to cocaine. "How soon can we?"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure this is shit


End file.
